


Somehow closeted

by brokentoy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cock Worship, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers is a closeted cockslut, Steve Rogers makes the first move, Wet & Messy, tiny mention of potential foot fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentoy/pseuds/brokentoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘’I’m sorry what?’’ </p><p>Steve is looking at him from the other side of the room. He’s sitting on the couch with a book on his crossed legs, looking up at Bucky with a determined face. </p><p>‘’I need you to pose for me,’’ he repeats with the same flat tone he used the first time he said the words. </p><p>‘’Yes,’’ Bucky nods, making a motion gesture with his hand, ‘’and what did you say after that?’’ </p><p>Steve doesn’t even blink, ‘’I need you to pose for me. Without your shirt.’’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somehow closeted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [triedunture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/gifts).



> \- title references the fact that in my personal canon Steve is a closeted cockslut until he finally says fuck it and lets it go.
> 
> \- if you need a hand in dealing with your Bucky feelings or if you have filthy prompts to throw away from time to time you can find me here on tumblr @ [brokentoyinlalaland](http://brokentoyinlalaland.tumblr.com/)

‘’I’m sorry, what?’’ 

Steve is looking at him from the other side of the room. He’s sitting on the couch with a book on his crossed legs, looking up at Bucky with a determined face.

‘’I need you to pose for me,’’ he repeats with the same flat tone he used the first time he said the words.

‘’Yes,’’ Bucky nods, making a motion gesture with his hand, ‘’and what did you say after that?’’

Steve doesn’t even blink, ‘’I need you to pose for me. Without your shirt.’’

Bucky sighs. He had heard that correctly. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to answer but Steve is faster ‘’I need it for school. It’s a project on the human body. You are human, you have a body, I need to see it.’’

Bucky gapes.   
  
When he encouraged Steve to take classes at the local college he didn’t think he would ever have to do anything with it besides maybe help Steve buy supplies or offer the encouragement Steve might need when he wasn’t feeling up to the challenge. He never thought about it but if he did he might have imagined that Steve would practice still life or architectural landscapes, and if he ever really needed to practice with a model he would just do that: practice with a model. Possibly a professional one, in school.  
  
Not Bucky.   
  
Never Bucky.

Not intentionally at least. Not actively posing under Steve’s eyes, open under their scrutiny.  

‘’I don’t think I’m the right person for this,’’ he says. He takes a step back to their little kitchen, hoping to get discreetly off the hook. ‘’I’m sure you can find someone else.’’

‘’You are just fine. I need to do this and you need to help me.’’

‘’I really really don’t,’’ he says instead of I’m not good enough for this but then Steve looks at him with eyes as big as saucers and says ‘’Please, Bucky,’’ and Bucky feels the fight bleed out of him as he sighs, defeated.

This is how he finds himself barefoot in the middle of the room, soaking up in the early afternoon light from the window, standing as Steve gathers around what he needs to start working. He has that little determined look about him that makes Bucky swell with fondness, like when he sets his mind to do something no matter how hard it might be. It makes Bucky feel a little bit ashamed of himself for not being a better person, for putting up the little resistance he did in the hopes to escape Steve’s sharp gaze, but he tries to make himself relax about the whole thing.   
  
The truth is: Bucky doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t understand what Steve sees in him when he looks up with a pencil in his hand.

He doesn’t find himself anything so special to look at. He is not that interesting.   
  
But Steve has been drawing him one way or another since they were kids, and Bucky has never understood what the big deal was. Has never posed intentionally before, but has caught Steve enough times in the past to know it’s an habit of his to sneak a portrait when he thinks Bucky won't notice.

There are drawings of Bucky playing ball when he was 10. Bucky doing weird faces to crack Steve up when he was sick during the winter months, drawn from memory days later. There are even drawings of Bucky sleeping facedown on the couch, drool and all. Steve has never been too shy about showing him how much he liked drawing Bucky both in movement and in stillness, dynamic flashes and details of his face alike in the middle of his hundred other sketches.

Bucky never really got the point of it, but like anything in his life since they met, if it made Steve happy it was good enough.

‘’Okay, I’m ready,’’ Steve says as he flops again on the couch. He takes his sketchbook in hand and looks at Bucky studiously. ‘’We’ll just work a little bit on different poses. Feel free to move around a bit for now.’’

Bucky nods, already feeling self conscious of his body. It’s one thing when Steve’s drawing him when he doesn’t notice and another to pose for him.   
  
He tries to let his limbs loose. Suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, where to put them, and first puts one in his pants pocket before changing his mind and letting it rest on his hip.

‘’Don’t look so nervous,’’ Steve says. He’s amused.

‘’I’m not used to knowing you're drawing me,’’ he says honestly.

Steve smiles fondly at him. ‘’I do that so often you should be. Take your shirt off, come on.’’

Bucky almost blushes at how much it sounds like an order even if it’s not. He still does what he’s told and sheds his shirt, drops it to the floor next to his naked feet.

‘’Good,’’ Steve says. ‘’Try not to hunch your shoulders.’’

He hadn’t even known he was doing it, but now he finds he is folding into himself, unconsciously trying to become smaller.  
  
Steve’s eyes rake over his chest, stop in the middle of it as he thinks and then move to the paper in his hands as he starts sketching. From time to time he looks up, gaze sharp, and then down again with a frown of concentration.   
  
Bucky keeps still, doesn’t dare move a muscle unless he’s told so, and soon enough Steve makes an approving sound and says, ‘’Okay, move a little bit to the side now.’’

He does, follows Steve’s directions until he finds himself under another light. Steve is probably practicing shading as well, and Bucky focuses on him working to try and not feel embarrassed.   
  
Minutes pass without them saying a word, the only sound in the room the pencil scratching on the paper and Steve’s steady breath. Bucky’s heart, too, thudding against his chest and threatening to be louder by the second.

He coughs, looks away from Steve’s head to the window. Outside he can see pigeons perched on the power lines between the streetlights. He starts counting them.

From one to seven and then back again, and then again and one more time.

He’s up to twenty-six when he realizes the shuffling sound is Steve’s socked feet getting closer, and he turns his head just in time to find Steve there in front of him, extremely close.

‘’You were somewhere else for a moment,’’ Steve murmurs. ‘’Are you bored?’’

Bucky shakes his head, doesn’t have it in him to talk.

‘’I just need you to move a little bit,’’ Steve tells him apologetically.   
  
And then Steve’s warm hands are on him, light and strong as they move his arms about, as they settle on his naked waist and turn his upper body until he’s three quarters away from the light, standing a little away from the window.

He can feel Steve’s breath on the skin of his chest, his fingers digging a bit harder than necessary in his flesh.   
  
Bucky blushes a little now, feeling warm all over even though he’s shucked his shirt already half an hour ago. He’s not used to be moved around like this, especially not by Steve. Guys twice Steve’s size have tried and failed, and yet Bucky lets him do whatever he wishes with his body, no questions asked. The implications burn under the skin of his cheeks.     
  
Steve doesn’t say anything, just stands there a second longer. His hands linger, squeeze Bucky’s sides reassuringly before leaving him.

Bucky is not surprised to think he wants them back, but he doesn’t say a word as he watches Steve turn and take his seat again.

This time when Steve looks up his eyes are not as focused and Bucky holds his stare a moment before looking away, willing himself anywhere but in this position of scrutiny.

He feels like he imagines ants feel under a magnifying glass.   
  
He thinks he’s not that far away from catching fire anyway.

The scratching sound of graphite over paper starts again, and Bucky wills himself to relax. He’s blowing this out of proportion, and he shakes his head out of his own thoughts until Steve tells him ‘’Don’t move,’’ in such a commanding tone he apparently feels the need to add a ‘’Please’’ right after.

So Bucky doesn’t move and lets Steve draw like that for what feels like half an hour more. He keeps the pose until his muscles start to feel a little sore, and he’s weirdly almost okay with it now.   
  
Steve looking at him doesn’t feel like that much of a deal anymore. It’s not like he’s grown used to it yet, but after an hour of working, the bulk of his tension has bled away.

‘’You know,’’ Steve’s voice snatches him from his thoughts again, ‘’I don’t know why I didn’t ask you to do this before. You’re the perfect model.’’ He sounds serious, like he believes what he’s saying.

‘’I might be pretty but I wouldn’t say I’m perfect.’’ Bucky smiles around the words as he distractedly follows patterns in the wallpaper. Bravado is his friend.

‘’Yeah you are.’’

Steve says it like it’s a matter of fact, completely distracted by the figures taking shape from his fingers. Figures that are Bucky. Bucky through the eyes of Steve. And a different Bucky from the dozen other Buckys in those pages, one that he thinks must now look more like a man than a boy, something Steve could get back to as reference for his future works.  
  
He swells a little bit with pride at that.  
  
The things he wouldn’t do for Steve, really.

He catches a blur of movement from the couch as Steve gets up again and comes closer. He’s ready to move again when Steve touches him, but Steve’s fingers don’t push him one way or another. They don’t pull him to the side or move it back or forward; they just rest on his chest, tips burning.

‘’You have these lines here,’’ Steve says in a soft voice like he’s talking to himself, ‘’you see, these ones?’’

Bucky doesn’t see them he’s too distracted watching the top of Steve’s head as Steve keeps going, fingers sliding down. ‘’It’s like every muscle of your torso is perfectly drawn on your body.’’

Steve fingers come up now, trailing thin paths of fire on Bucky’s skin. They reach the top of his shoulders and follow down over each of his arms, very slowly. His short nails scratch Bucky lightly on the biceps. Bucky imagines them leaving fine white lines that disappear too quickly under the golden tint his job at the docks gives him from April to September.   
  
He makes a real effort not to shiver.

‘’You’re not like a greek god.’’ Steve keeps talking even now that his hands are on Bucky’s wrists, circling as their fingers twine for a second until he lets them go in favor of touching Bucky’s waist again. ‘’But you look just as perfect.’’ He feels the pads of Steve’s thumbs brush circles into the bones of his hips as they protrude slightly atop the waist of his pants.   
  
Shivering is not the main reaction Bucky is afraid of now.

Steve doesn’t look up at him when Bucky swallows and he is stupidly relieved. He wouldn’t know how to explain the blush rising up his cheeks, the burning in his gut as Steve talks to him like that, touches him like he’s beautiful, precious, a work of art Steve is lucky to stand before.

This is what Steve is for him. Anything he would do for Steve is worth it just for the way he makes Bucky feel. Even this. These feelings bubbling in his belly like happiness and anxiety, feelings he doesn’t know what to do with except stomp on them like he did before countless times.   
  
Every time Steve looked at him with shining eyes and a smile so blinding it made Bucky want to cry he didn’t know what to do with himself and his poor beating heart.

It is like this now. His heart must hate Bucky for the strain he puts on it whenever he’s near Steve, and Bucky understands it. Poor, poor heart, it’s not its fault Bucky’s so stupid to go and mess his feelings up. Like he ever had a choice to begin with.

He's so wrapped up inside his own head he doesn't realize what’s happening until Steve’s already on his knees before him.

For a second he thinks he is hallucinating. Only he’s not, because Steve catches his eyes from below and smiles a smile so innocent, and so, so filthy Bucky would have never been able to imagine it in his wildest dreams, so this must be real.

Real.   
  
Steve kneeling at Bucky’s feet grinning like he’s just where he’s wants to be in life and looking straight at Bucky as he gets closer.

This is real.

Steve pressing his face against Bucky’s cock.   
  
Bucky’s full cock, heavy and proudly nestled behind the thin barrier of his cotton pants. So hard for Steve’s attention on him he can feel the wet spot where his dick has been pearling with excitement.

He doesn’t make a sound beyond a surprised gasp when Steve mouths at him a little. Hesitantly, like he’s trying the idea out for size and liking it before doing it with more conviction. The dampness of Steve’s breath makes Bucky squirm. He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them back he’s horrified to find his hand resting on Steve’s head.

He doesn’t have the time to take it off and apologize  — for the hand, for the hard-on, for the inconvenient sound his heart is making as it tries to reach out to Steve’s — because Steve catches his hand with his own and presses it in his hair, fingers squeezing in reassurance.

So Bucky does what he’s been doing all afternoon and doesn’t move unless he’s told to.

He watches, mesmerised, as Steve takes his time pressing his face against him, eyes closed. He feels his happy sigh through the layers of fabric, warm and humid and perfect, and his hand trembles a little with excitement.

When Steve turns his head up again, Bucky is powerless to look away as deft fingers open up his pants and Steve takes him in hand with much more confidence than Bucky himself would dream of.

‘’Steve,’’ he whispers, voice rough and almost dying right away in his throat as Steve’s little pink tongue licks kitten sweet at the head of his cock. He doesn't have any more words to say, which might be a blessing as it is because Bucky could very well spill all his secrets in a rush of words to the rhythm of Steve’s little filthy laps around the crown of his dick.

He might let out how much he's thought about it. How much he cares in this other, obscure way that he shouldn’t even know about, not with Steve. How he’s thought about this very thing but doing it to Steve late at night and early in the mornings, in the afternoons like they’re doing right now at an angle nobody would ever see from outside the window.   
  
Nobody will ever know how Bucky has dreamed of this except for Bucky. And maybe Steve if he keeps doing what he’s doing like sucking dick is his new mission in life.   
  
The devotion he’s putting into it, the way he opens his mouth and takes it in with such care leaves Bucky breathless. Steve looks up at him with something akin to pure joy as he’s sucking Bucky down, the filthy noises he makes a beautiful music to Bucky’s ears.   
  
Bucky looks at him and looks at him, pretty like he’s always been in Bucky’s eyes and even more now, those eyes so much brighter and those lips so much pinker than what Bucky’s has already been gifted with.   
  
He looks and looks and finds himself panting and smiling at Steve, at the way he looks like he’s grinning even with a mouthful of Bucky’s cock halfway down his throat. His hips buck and his hand grips Steve’s hair tighter, but Bucky hasn’t started apologizing when Steve hums happily and pushes even more onto him, his hand coming up to press against Bucky’s and his own head.

Pressing down, asking silently to be made to get some more.

Bucky groans and obliges. He pushes lightly and then a bit more forcefully when he sees that Steve really likes it. Steve does like it, choking himself, gagging around Bucky’s cock like it’s a gift to him.

It’s becoming messier by the second and Bucky loves it so much he feels again that funny feeling like he’s so overwhelmed by Steve he could cry.

Spit pools around the corners of Steve’s stretched mouth and Bucky’s other hand comes up to play with it, push against the tender spots of Steve’s puffed up lips. His fingertips dip into the mess of come and drool, filthy and wet and slippery until his thumb fits itself inside alongside the weight of his dick.

Bucky feels himself move in and out Steve’s mouth along the skin of his finger, cock resting in the in-between moments on Steve’s tongue.   
  
He presses the pad of his thumb down the flat of that tongue, just because he can.

Steve trembles around it and a second later Bucky feels a splutter on his naked feet and realizes Steve has just come all over them. Sometime between kneeling down and sucking Bucky’s finger alongside his dick Steve had started jerking himself off, coming all over the wooden floor and Bucky’s feet.

The thought steals a moan out of Bucky’s lungs and he takes advantage of Steve catching his breath to slip his cock out slowly, tip sliding along Steve’s cheek and leaving a shiny trail of precome in its wake, and then lifts Steve up to his feet, legs trembling.   
  
Steve looks at him curiously, hint of apprehension in his eyes that Bucky annihilates with a kiss, deep and filthy and wet and messy, nothing he ever thought his first kiss with Steve would ever be.   
  
Steve moans into his mouth and Bucky sucks his tongue, bites his lips and takes himself in hand, gives himself a couple of strokes more and makes a mess of himself and some of Steve’s clothes as well.

They don’t part even as Bucky’s coming down from his orgasm, poor, poor heart beating in his ears that this is too much for it to take, too much to taste if it’s not supposed to stay forever, to be kept within its reach.   
  
They kiss and they kiss and Steve grips at him with fingers digging in the flesh of his shoulder, like he’s afraid Bucky would ever let him go. Never would have happened before, never will happen now, he wants to say.   
  
He doesn’t though. He leaves these words for later, maybe. Kissing Steve is much a better option for the time being, until they’re exhausted. Until Steve will make a joke about how he can draw Bucky naked in his bed, and Bucky will say it's a ridiculous idea before accepting.

  
  
  



End file.
